Good Not Done
by JThistle
Summary: [SI/OC & Batfam centric; possible Dick x SI/OC] A metahuman in Gotham isn't exactly news, and it's not like they really have history together - but he still can't help looking out for her. And looking out for her might be about to get him into a lot of trouble.


**Disclaimer:** Honestly, I only got into comics recently, and the first thing I do is write an SI story - aah, typical fangirl, right? Well, there's nothing wrong with that. I've still put forward my best effort! This will probably eventually be a Dick x OC fic, but I'm not sure yet . . .

For this chapter, I made sure to read through all of Robin Year One before finishing it, so I hope his characterization here is on point. There are actually some reasons why the story starts here instead of later - basically it's just because I remember Batman and Robin mostly from when I was very young, and my stepdad would watch B:TAS a lot, haha. It turns out my mom is also a big fan of Batman's . . . . *sweats* How did I avoid it for so long . . . ? Other than that, I'm also just fond of stories that start in a character's early youth and follows how everything builds together to form who they turn into, ever since I read Wicked, haha. So because of that, this might be a story like that . . . . Well, I'm still figuring out a lot of details.

 **Prologue A:** _Le rendez-vous premier_

He was ten when he first saw her; he'd barely been Robin for a month, and even though he'd never admit it to Batman, he was still getting used to patrols. Arkham was closed to visitors for the night - the only cars in the parking lot belonged to staff.

It was only natural that when he saw the pale fabric of a nightgown in the shadows that he'd be concerned; Batman was checking on someone inside and had asked him to keep a lookout - so he was left to his own judgment.

The girl sleeping in the car was very small - maybe four or five, easily half his age, and sleeping like the dead, her head lolling back against the seatbelt still fastened around her, knees curled up against her chest. He'd noticed the nightgown first because it was pale pink - almost white under the poor lighting of the parking lot - and her skin danced with the shadows the way droplets of water merged together, her hair melting into the night except where the fluorescent lighting sparked off of it like stars.

Arkham should have been secure, but it still seemed dangerous to leave a little kid alone like that, so he settled on the hood of the car to keep an eye on the rest of the parking lot and wait. She didn't stir when he clambered onto the vehicle - not that he gave her a reason to - and she didn't wake at all in the time he stayed there - fifteen minutes or half an hour, maybe before her parents finally emerged from the institution.

He disappeared into the shadows as they approached the car, listened to their conversation long enough to know that the man worked there, that he was just getting off his shift. Obviously, the woman couldn't have left her daughter home alone, so Robin had to admit she was probably in good hands as the car drove away.

The rest of that night as uneventful. He didn't ask Batman about it; why would he have? It was just a family routine. Maybe the next time they were patrolling around Arkham he kept an eye out for them, but it was just nice to see families doing family things. He wasn't about to let them lose their daughter just because Gotham could be a little dangerous at nights.

* * *

It's raining the night she first sees him. The window she's scrunched up in front of doesn't close all the way, but the window of the other side seems to be blocked off. Maybe that should be the first warning bell, but he doesn't think about it much. She's pulled a jacket over her head so the water doesn't fall on her, but she isn't as deeply asleep as she has been previously - when he holds the umbrella Batman _insisted_ he bring over the crack in the window she stirs, eyeing him suspiciously for a moment before she seems to jolt into awareness.

The seat belt comes off before he realizes he's scared her, and she's already flung herself into the junk on the other side of the car before he has the sensibility to raise his hands up in a universal gesture of goodwill. The umbrella falls to the crook of his elbow in a way that's almost clumsy, dumping rain water around his feet and over one shoulder.

Between that and the raincoat he doesn't feel as much like a superhero as usual, but the domino mask on his face lets him pretend, anyway, "Hey, hey, it's alright. I'm with Batman."

Everyone but the police loves Batman. Well, the police and the kind of people who don't have parents working in Arkham, anyway.

She hunches over for a moment before reaching up to fumble with something on the ceiling - a moment later, the interior roof light is on, and he has to squint in order to make out her features. She's squinting right back though, scrunched and suspicious, her face curling back like a cat's.

Even her hair, mussed and wild from her nap, seems to raise up on itself. He makes soothing sounds in the back of his throat, "I just didn't want anything to happen to you while you were waiting for your parents."

She seems to accept that, more or less. She doesn't come any closer, but she settles down, curling up against the blankets and boxes that block off the other door. He hums a ditty, to her or to himself, he can't remember later, and keeps the umbrella tilted over the crack in the window until he sees her parents emerge from Arkham.

She doesn't say a word, but eventually, she seems to drift off again. Her body remains tense, but her eyes slide closed and her breathing evens out. He keeps humming until it's time for him to disappear in the shadows again, where he watches as her parents rearrange her and the contents of the back seat.

The glow of the roof light contrasts with the cold and the wet, like a halo around the head of a saint contrasts with the supplications of a sinner. He thinks she's blessed and safe, and if it seems odd that only the man getting off of work wants to take the time to keep his daughter dry, his ten year old mind has plenty of excuses.

* * *

She does not see him again; or at least, when she does, she doesn't recognize him. Bruce is doing an "old friend" a favor - though if the way Bruce looks at the girl's mom is any indication, old friends isn't the most accurate way to describe their relationship.

"Her father was a vet," he says, when Dick asks, "He talked trade with mine occasionally."

He doesn't mention how young they must have been, just tells Dick to be a good example while Alfred watches them. Dick has tons of homework anyway, so he's not sure what kind of trouble he could get up to.

But when it's the girl from Arkham's parking lot, he at least reconsiders the homework part. She's different - in the daylight, she looks sullen and withdrawn, and her mother's eyes are red and puffy. He hears Alfred say something discrete about freshening up, before showing her the way to the powder room, and leaving Dick to entertain the girl from the parking lot.

"Hi," he says brightly; the girl is looking around the room with badly concealed wonder; she's trying to look apathetic, but still seems fascinated with how polished Alfred keeps everything, "I'm Richard Grayson - Bruce's ward. You can call me Dick if you like."

It is clear almost immediately that she will never call him Dick, ". . . It's nice to meet you, Richard."

"What's your name?"

She fidgets - there are black gloves on her hands, with locks, and she twists the hems, sliding the locks back and forth; "M-Min. My mom and dad aren't going to live together anymore, so Mr. Wayne said he'd look after me while she's at work."

"Alfred'll probably be the one doing the looking after," Dick says, "Bruce is really busy. But he's nice! You'll like him."

(This is because, escapades as the Dynamic Duo aside, pretty much everyone seems to like Bruce. Dick can't actually imagine anyone not.)

The conversation peters out; she's still looking around and trying to seem like she's not. For a while, it's just quiet.

"Do you want me to show you around?" he asks. She startles, her eyes going wide, but then seems to regain her composure, and nods.

The walk around the house . . . .

. . . Is also very quiet. They haven't been through the whole mansion before Alfred calls them over to bid goodbye to her mother, but Dick is on tempted to just give up. A few times he glances over to see that she seems almost on the verge of tears, though.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, eventually, as they're looking through some of the empty rooms on the third floor. Dick has already been through every inch of the manor on his own, so he knows there's nothing interesting to be found, and her wonder seems to have faded, but she still looks around politely.

"No," she says, promptly, "Thank you, though."

He thinks about it, but can't think of anything else to do. Somehow, letting her into his room seems like something Alfred would call inappropriate - her mother also seemed pretty strict.

They end up helping Alfred out in the kitchen - Min is not particularly good at cooking, and seems to want cheese on everything. Alfred humors her - Dick can't help noticing how much she eats, though, always wanting more.

She's not particularly skinny, but something stirs in his memory. Alfred also seems somewhat pained, that look crossing over his face that is one part disproval at the world, two parts sympathy and a carefully constructed mask of polite disinterest. Min doesn't seem to notice.

"I hear you're quite a reader, Miss Min," Alfred says; he doesn't comment when she doesn't take her gloves off, and instead simply has her focus on tasks that one can do in a kitchen without washing one's hands.

"I guess," she seems flattered, "Matilda and Peter Pan are my favorites."

"Has Master Dick shown you the library?" Alfred asks; Dick gets the hint - though he's not sure it's much of a hint at that point. Min's eyes go wide.

"You have your own library?" she asks.

"The late Master Wayne had quite a collection," Alfred says, "I'm sure you would feel quite at home there."

Dick is cutting vegetables, but honestly paying more attention to the conversation behind him than the food. Alfred is showing Min how to set the table - a sharp pain laces through Dick's hand.

"Oww," he says, and immediately sticks his now bleeding thumb in his mouth.

"Master Richard?" Alfred asks; Dick turns to him. Min's eyes have gone wide again.

"I cut my finger," Dick mumbles around his thumb; Alfred leaves the room to get a first aide kit, and Dick crosses to the sink, hissing at the sting of water when he puts his thumb under the faucet.

Min seems frozen in place, "Can I help . . . ?"

"It's fine," Dick replies, "Alfred will be here in a moment with the first aide kit." He feels kind of dumb though - he spends his nights fighting crime; he survived the Shrikes school of vengeance, and yet here he is, cutting his finger open with a paring knife because he's too busy eavesdropping.

"My mom stabbed herself with one of those knives once," Min says, "She had to go to the hospital . . ."

"I don't think it's that bad," Dick assures her; Alfred comes back in, and Dick turns off the faucet.

Alfred has him bandaged up in no time. If he _had_ needed stitches, Alfred would have been able to take care of that too, but he's pretty sure it would be a bad idea to talk about that.

After this incident, they're shoo'd out of the kitchen. Dick leads her to the library, where she seems quite content to curl up and read for the remainder of the night.

She eats twice as much as dinner than she had in the afternoon, even though it turns out she's a picky eater and only picks at her vegetables.

While Alfred and Bruce talk about business matters, Dick leans over to her, whispering, "I bet I can eat more of my vegetables than you can."

She doesn't seem enthusiastic about the idea of a challenge, but finishes her vegetables anyway, even though it's a slow process. Dick decides babysitting is a difficult thing to do, especially when she excuses herself immediately after dessert, and heads back to the library without him.

"Don't push her too hard, Dick," Bruce says, eyes more mirthful than he lets on, "She's a bit shy."

"I've noticed," Dick replies, "I can't get her to talk about anything!"

"You'll have time to get to know her," Alfred says, "For now, though, I strongly advise you get started on your homework if you want to have time to spend with Miss Jenny this weekend, Master Dick."

Dick has to oblige.

* * *

Alfred is wrong; her mother only approaches Bruce for babysitting favores a handful of times after that before they move, and of those times, Dick interacts with Min less and less. It's a little lonely.

Jenny gets a different boyfriend, but it's only a few weeks later that the mysterious "Batgirl" shows up on the scene anyway. He has a lot of friends - or acquaintances - at school, at least, but they never come over, and it's better that way.

He never realized how empty Wayne Manor was until there was someone trying to avoid him inside it, but he's still disappointed when he comes home from school one day to the news that mother and daughter have flewn Gotham.

"Do you miss her?" he asks Batman.

"Miss who?" Batman asks. They're on patrol, and since Alfred isn't around, Dick has his feet up on the dashboard. Batman doesn't ask him to take them down.

"Min's mom," Dick asks, "What was her name . . . Reina? Wanda?"

Batman corrects him too quickly, " - And no. We've never been close."

"But you liked her, didn't you?"

"Take your shoes off the dashboard. If Alfred were to see you, he wouldn't approve."

Dick obliges.

"Did you like her?" Batman asks after a pause, twisting into the other lane. They're almost to their destination, though. Dick can hear it in the man's voice.

"Like who?"

"The girl," Batman replies, "You seemed to take an interest in her."

"Oh," Dick considers this; he hasn't told Batman about seeing her in the Arkham Asylum parking lot, "No, not like that. I just wanted to make sure she felt welcome."

If they weren't on patrol, he thinks Batman would probably have rested a hand on his head. There's an approving smile on the man's lips, "You're a good kid, Robin."

"Thanks, sir," Dick says, and is pleased, "It's probably best if they got out of Gotham anyway. Things always seem to get worse around here."

He doesn't think he'll see her again.

He's wrong too.


End file.
